A Necessary Evil
by Chained Yet Adrift
Summary: Sometimes things happen in life that force us to do the unthinkable, but we will do it anyway because we know that we must.


Disclaimer: I own nothing but my twisted imagination.

A/N: This fic is not meant to offend anyone or cause some outrageous revolt. It is simply the product of too much time on my hands and too much imagination to help it thrive.

Pairing: Lana Winters/Oliver Thredson. Don't like, don't read, it's as simple as that. Contains mature scenes and sexual situations, but you should expect that anyway since after all, this is American Horror Story right?

American Horror Story: Asylum

**A Necessary Evil**

"_Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others - past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future."_

_-Susan Sarandan – Cloud Atlas_

_I've always admired the softness of her touch, so gentle and sure when she teases me mercilessly with her skillful fingers. _

_She is the love of my life, the one who was made for me._

_I giggle as her fingertips trail a ticklish path up my calves to my thighs, the tension building as each caress brings her closer to the aching place between my legs. She drives me wild with anticipation, delight, and lust._

_Her fingers are so close… yet so far from where I need them to be and I can't stop my hips from twisting to try to catch them and I love her for every minute of it._

_I sigh, my toes curling in the sweetest bliss as I whisper her name._

"_Wendy…" _

"Oliver." corrected the calm, even baritone of the not so feminine male voice next to my ear, bringing me crashing back to the harsh reality that is now my very own personalized nightmare. Back to his dark, dimly lit bedroom. Back to _him_.

Dr. Oliver Thredson.

I always think of Wendy whenever he does these things to me, but it would appear he is on to my game and is growing tired of this coping mechanism that I've so gratefully adopted.

"Now Lana," he says with a small knowing smile. "I thought we already had this discussion. Since we're giving your Conversion therapy one more try, we need to do whatever it takes to keep you moving forward, but in order to do that, you _have_ to release this insistent grip on your past."

I remember this…. "discussion".

It was the moment when I was forced to kiss Wendy's icy, blue lips as she lay almost completely frozen over the tile floor like a trophy for me to see just before he scooped her up and took her away from me forever.

"Yes, I remember it well…" I whisper, my eyes glued to some random point on Oliver's high ceiling.

And I am not soon to forget.

"Good. Then let our therapy session begin, shall we?"

I am leaning against Oliver's wooden headboard, a pillow behind my back. Oliver is on the bed with me, stripped down to his skin as he sits crossed legged between my open thighs. Times like these are when I long for the solitude of his basement, but he has decided that moving me to his bedroom will aid in implementing the desired effect. At least I can take comfort in the lack of chains and a new change of scenery for the time being.

He removes his black rimmed glasses and places them on the nightstand next to his bed and for the lack of anything else better to keep my mind off him, my eyes wander around his bedroom and I absentmindedly note that he seems to favor the color brown. The flash of my white panties thrown and forgotten to the floor catch my peripheral, but my examination is cut short when his large hands slide the hem of my short green gown farther up my hips and carefully, his thick fingers begin to explore my nether regions. They are soft and I stiffen when they're curious exploration slides lower, teasing little circles over the tiny little bud at the apex of my thighs just before two are plunged gently into my entrance.

I wince and recline as obediently as I can humanly muster while he begins to pull the responses he craves from my increasingly traitorous body with his fingers. His expression is firm, focused. He prefers to see me bared and open before him and it takes all of my strength to resist the temptation to close my legs. I lower my head, my long brown hair falling into my face like a curtain to hide my disgrace.

Deny it all he must, but I know he takes pleasure in feeding off my fear like the most gluttonous leech and its constant thirst for blood. I want to cry at the injustice of it all, but I have none left.

Up to this point, I've lost all track of time. He keeps me hidden from the world, locked away inside his home, day in and day out with only him to keep me company. After he'd escaped my capture back Briarcliff, he worked his intelligent magic on the forever reckless staff at the asylum. He made arrangements for me to leave the facility under the guise that my pregnancy was living proof that I was making progress with my Conversion therapy, declaring it safe for me to return to the male lover I'd met upon my previous escape and begin a new life.

And since then, my "lover" has made it his absolute prerogative to not leave my side. He went on a "_New Father_" escapade, buying all sorts of baby clothes, bottles, toys and books to better arm himself with the knowledge of raising his first child. Everything appeared to be falling into place for him, piece by aggravating piece. And I am powerless to stop it, to stop _any_ of this and he knows it.

Armed with this knowledge, he took it upon himself to become my sole caretaker, knowing that the further along my pregnany gets, the more dependent of him I'm forced to become too. Like a lamb with a broken leg, struggling to get away from the wolf that's lingering just on the outskirts of a knoll.

I feel his two fingers diving into my wet, overly sensitive core and I grit my teeth, trying my hardest to stop my twitching thighs from wrapping around his hand. His fingers caress the slick walls of my wet cavern my hips jerk into his hand greedily for more. I remember when I used to have some semblance of control over my body, but this pregnancy has made my body all but alien to me. I am barely three months in, but already I feel fat, I'm tired, I ache in places I never thought I could possibly ache, and I'm _frustrated _because to me this pregnancy isn't beautiful, or marvelous and it's certainly no miracle.

The good doctor senses my inner turmoil and speaks.

"Pregnancy has made your body much more receptive to my touch, despite your apparent… _fondness…_ for the female sex." Oliver says in that same quiet, professional and even tone that he always uses when he's addressing one of his patients. "Your climax will increase the blood flow to the uterus which will benefit the child in the womb. And the release of endorphins will help to put you at ease and as a result, the baby will feel a calm and happy sensation as well..."

Then he looks directly at me as he says the least part. "Not to mention it will also strengthen the bond between you and me."

I utter not a word, but I know in some ways he speaks the truth. As much as I hate to admit it, it would seem the wolf's patience has earned him a little luck because I _am _tired of the fight and can only lay in fear as he inevitably scoops me up in his sharp jaws.

Before I can even think of protesting his words, the tips of his fingers suddenly hook upwards with each stroke of his hand and I feel myself wanting to choke on the hoarse, pleasure induced cry that escapes my throat. My fingers grasp at his dark brown blankets and I pull the fabric to bury my face in them to hide my shame, but I am only reminded of this moment further when it surrounds me with the masculine scent of him lingering within them. He drives me mad the way he teases me ironically the same way that Wendy used to.

Oliver grips me under me knees and pulls me down flat to my back in one swift tug before resuming his activity between my legs. His other hand traces circles on my inner thigh and it feels as though my skin lights on fire in wake of their path. He is very much keen to the hypersensitivity of my body and I hear a deep sound of satisfaction from him when he feels the flood of warmth pooling around his fingers.

This is our fifth session so far, each of them increasing in length from the last. Oliver has become all too familiar with my body as of late so it doesn't come as a surprise anymore when my brain suddenly floods into emptiness and I succumb to my bittersweet release. My toes flex and curl, my thighs snapping together and I suddenly gasp as my inner muscles begin to clench in that tell-tale rhythm of my release around his thick, invasive fingers. Through the pleasure induced fog swirling freely from my head to hips, I hear his voice, again, tell me this is necessary for the good of our unborn child.

I hate when he's gentle. Part of me believes that somewhere, hidden away in his tormented and confused psyche, he may actually care for me… Despite the fact that I'd gladly kill him given him the chance and he the same of me.

But Oliver is relentless in trying to make something that was never meant to be work. We are the embodiment of polar opposites: me a lesbian, he a psychotic. It was like trying to put a cylinder shaped block into a triangular shaped hole. We would never fit now matter how hard he jammed us together. But in his warped and disturbed frame of mind, he was hell bent on hammering that damn block in until he _made_ us fit.

When my eyes come back into an unsteady focus, I make a start at finding him suspended over me by his free arm, his dark eyes closely watching my embarrassing fall from grace. I feel the rhythm of his fingers slow as he continues to draw out my release. Finally, almost regretfully he withdraws and I continue to clench despite myself in the absence of his fingers. I use this moment to wriggle my nightgown back down and place as much distance between him and myself without actually getting off the bed. Oliver's eyebrows furrow at my retreat before he speaks.

"You're feeling confused, aren't you Lana?" he asks in a low voice, raising a single thick eyebrow in curiousity. "You're wondering if the emotion you're feeling is soley based on the stimulation I'm providing or if it's from something else..."

I am still clutching his blanket as I begin to tremble, shaking my head as I mull over his words.

"There have been studies as to whether or not the majority of a woman's emotions shut down during the act of climax… including her sense of fear." He says, his eyes lingering up my bare legs and I absentmindedly tug at my gown's hem.

I watch in horror when he tastes my glistening juices on his fingers like an afternoon snack while he appears to ponder over what he wants me to do next. He becomes lost in the thoughts lingering within the dark recesses of his mind at the possibilities and it's all I can do to sit back and watch the emotions washing through him. Though vague, they swirl against each other like various colors of paint being poured into a mixing bowl, battling one another for dominance. The spectacle lasts only a few seconds, but it seems like a lifetime because as the combat rages on, I am helpless to know which one will emerge victorious.

I am nervous when his mind quickly clears like his head has just been pulled from underwater. His dark eyes lock with mine and he says, "I guess we'll just have to see how much of that's true."

My eyes narrow at him as I sit across from him on the bed, scanning his own for any glint of hope that now he'll just leave me be. But there is only disappointment when I instead find the same thing I've been seeing for months: loneliness and an everlasting longing to be accepted.

I can't help but wonder what the monster in him sees as it leers at _me_ through the windows of his black rimmed glasses. I imagine myself to be only a broken, empty husk of what used to be the strong, passionate reporter fighting to make my mark in this world dominated by men like Oliver Thredson. An ill-fated soul, doomed to drown in Bloody Face's black shadow with the rest of the women that have been lost.

"_A fish out of water, gasping for air."_ as Oliver so elegantly put it.

Moving to his knees, he gestures for me to come to him obediently and only now do I recognize his obvious arousal jutting from between his legs, but he does nothing to hide it from me. Besides, I've since learned to not expect a murderer of his caliber to feel any type of shame. I shake my head and feel my face contort into a sob.

"Oliver, please... I can't... I can't do this. Please don't make me do this."

I had never been with a man before until him, his hard, naked body so different from the soft, supple one I remembered and cherished better than my own.

My Wendy's.

"You can and you will do this. Which is why I think its time we took our sessions to the next level."

I immediately tell myself again, like a deafening mantra, that his attempts to continue to expose me to heterosexuality are a continuous failure. And I used think that somewhere deep down, he knew it too and was just refusing to accept it. But now… I'm not so sure and it seems as though I'm trying to convince myself more than I am him.

He reaches for me and I go limp, gripping the sheets as I'm pulled roughly back towards him by my ankle and dragged up into his strong arms.

"Ahh, Lana…" he sighs breathily into my hair, holding my back flush against his bare naked front, his head resting against mine. I can feel his erection pressing between my thighs "I always knew you were the one, the _only_ one that I thought would ever understand me. From the moment I first laid eyes on you and the way you spoke of Kit as you waited for his arrival outside of Briarcliff. Your words sang to me and I knew there could be no one else that could accept me the way I knew you could. The same way that my mother should've…."

From over my shoulder, he watches his hands glide down the bare skin of my arms and begins to undo the little silver buttons along the front of my gown. And then his voice turns dark with an underlying malevolence that causes me jump in his grasp.

"But then I'm reminded of how you _betrayed_ me, countless times."

The last button is undone and Oliver pulls the garment roughly down my shoulders and tosses it the floor to join my abandoned panties. Naturally I curl over in a pathetic attempt to hide my breasts from his view, but he immediately grips my arms tightly and turns me around to look him in the eyes. They are penetrating and glassy with unshed tears, but I'm surprised when the annoyance in them begins to fade.

At least for now.

"As much as we've shared with one another, I hardly think there's any room left to be bashful, wouldn't you say?" he says matter-of-factly, his face stern.

Oliver's eyes drop, his expression softening as he gazes over my breasts. They begin to wander over my exposed skin, studying the changes going through my body. I fidget under his scrutiny while he looks me over like a present he doesn't know how to open.

"I must say, Lana, pregnancy looks quite good on you… Perhaps I wouldn't mind seeing it on you again sometime in the near future." He says and smirks, glancing up at me to gauge my level of shock at his outlandish statement.

"But I find it ironic that everything I've done, I still hold an admiration for the beauty of the female form. The way you're transforming during pregnancy… I mean, look at you. Your skin… once so bruised, is now practically glowing and your breasts swell with the abundance of milk. Soon the organs of the abdomen will gradually shift upward to make room for the continuous growth of the life nestled so comfortably between your hips, all performed so gracefully beneath the naked eye. And during all of this, the fetus is completely nurtured by the uterus from the moment of conception to the very pinnacle of birth… It's magnificent."

I watch as the tip of his index finger glides down the center of my steadily swelling stomach where his child lays protected from the very terror that created it, stopping only to circle my somewhat protruding belly button.

"Oliver… Listen to me." I whisper calmly, my voice shaking as his eyes drift lazily down my slightly curved belly until finally they lock at the small dripping triangle at the apex of my thighs. "We have both felt the sting of betrayal at some point in our lives. Like when your mother abandoned you and Wendy abandoning me, leaving both of us lost and forgotten by those who should have loved us and never let us go... But it can't be this way, not like this."

"Oh but it does have to be this way, Lana. And as much as I would love to kill you after our child is born to take back all the things I confided to you and you in turn so wrongfully tried to take from me…" he says in a distant voice as he gazes absentmindedly at my stomach. "I can't. It would be against my very being to let my child suffer the same fate that that has tormented me so. It's the most compelling paradox, believe me. Yet I very well can't just release you either, now can I? And since we're stuck here together, I figure we may as well make the most of it. So I'm going to give you an ultimatum…."

"What do you mean?" I ask, leery of his proposal.

"So long as you carry that baby within your womb, you're safe. But the day will come when I may have no more use for you. So to make this work, I've come to the conclusion that your Conversion therapy will be your last chance. If you can complete it by the time our child is born, I'll bury your little back alley abortion attempt into something of the past and forget it ever happened..."

I stare at Oliver, my eyes wide as I process his words.

There is a long silence between us as I realize my attempts to stall time by being a participant in this have not gone unnoticed.

"So what's it going to be?" he asks after a long moment of silence.

I jump at the sound of his voice, forgetting he is still there.

"Oliver don't make me do this... don't make me _choose_ because this was never meant be to my fate."

He grips my arms too tightly and pushes me roughly down to my back into his dark sheets.

"Everything has been based on your choices, Lana. Don't you see? Choices are the ones we have the luxury to make while fate is something of a luxury we will never be able to afford no matter how much we want a new one to replace the one we have. So I think it's about time you accepted yours."

I grow silent when his head dips down and the heat of his mouth closes around my breast as I contemplate this. When he feels me trembling, this aggravates him on the spot and he groans in frustration, the abrupt sound startling me like a loud pop. He is almost desperate for me to accept his touch the way an ever dutiful mother of his child should, but I just can't.

His large hand finds my neck, rubbing his thumb along the ridges of my trachea to make sure I know exactly who it is that's still holding the cards.

"If you're trying, you're not being very convincing." He says in a low tone.

He releases me and I scuttle backward so quickly I startle myself by the cold sting from the thick wood of his headboard, shaking like a leaf.

Oliver sits up and I watch him run his fingers through his ebony hair, tousling it about from its neatly combed position in aggravation. His hands are shaking as his mask of composure begins to crack. He exhales sharply; licking his lips as he quickly glues the brittle shards back together.

"Lana, this is the last time I'm going to give you this choice… _Don't waste it_."

And with those last words, I am finally encumbered by the weight of knowing that this is the beginning of the end as it bears down upon me like a hundred bags of cement. My eyes dart around his large dim bedroom, mentally in search of one last ploy, a plan to escape my inevitable destiny, but I know there are no more and there never will be again. He saw to that when he baby proofed the house, locking all sharp objects up along and sealing my freedom away along with them.

Oliver watches my last and final breakdown begin to commence, my lip quivers and my shoulder's begin to quake with a sob I once thought I no longer had within me. This is it... And in a way I don't know how to explain, I feel stricken with grief yet oddly relieved because my troubled shoulders no longer have the will to support the unbearable burden of not knowing whether or not death is knocking at my door.

I quickly wipe at the flood of tears that won't stop coming and try to voice my unwilling acquiescence to his request. But I can find no words so I simply nod my head, knowing that no words are really necessary and that Oliver already knew the answer before he asked. He just wanted t o hear it from me.

I see his expression slowly lighten into a small dark smile through the blur of my tears, but his joy isn't mutual.

My heart is pounding, my knees drawing up in front of me while I unconsciously press further back against his headboard in hopes that I can just fall straight through it as he moves in to claim his next trophy. His blatant nakedness never ceases to make me uncomfortable and I quickly look away when I glimpse the swollen, intimidating organ at his groin. Like the man starved of affection that he is, he closes the distance between us and I feel the press of his hands on either side of my belly just before they are joined by the press of his lips. These past few months he has grown much bolder in displaying the many pent up affections buried inside him as I seek to keep mine under lock and key. I can only stare blankly down at his dark head of hair when he looks up into my eyes and catches me watching him.

Oliver smiles a wide smile and before I can register what is happening, I whimper at the feel of his hand dipping into the tiny space hidden between my legs, testing the moisture from my earlier release. Satisfied with his findings, he jerks me down beneath his larger frame by my hips and for the first time in a long time, panic, my ever constant companion, comes to revisit me once more.

I release a small frantic sob, my eyes widening at what I know is about to come next, but as usual Oliver is one step ahead of me and grabs my wrists, pressing them to either side of my head before I can begin to thrash about.

"Shhhh…" I hear while I stare at the ceiling from under his shoulder and I close my eyes to try and still the wild fluttering within my chest. My fingers tighten on his shoulders as Oliver parts my thighs and settles between them.

My temple bumps gently against his, his cheek presses against mine and the heated path of his hands roams the skin of my naked shoulder's and sides like this is his last day to walk to the earth.

His expression is placid when he looks down at me, studying the anxiety on my face. He adjusts his hips and my fingers grip his shoulders tightly as slowly pushes into me until he is completely seated within. His breath catches in his throat and I wince from the discomfort of being stretched uncomfortably until my body adjusts to the intrusion. My hips wriggle around slightly, but they are stayed by his large hands. His lips lightly brush my own and then finally, they press against mine. I can taste faintly of myself from earlier on his lips mixed with a touch of alcohol and I steel myself as the tip of his tongue gently nudges for entrance past my lips.

When I deny him this small indulgence and turn my head to break the kiss, an unnervingly calm anger slowly becomes evident in his features at my small rebellion. Oliver lets go of my wrists and quickly sits up as though I've burned him, never breaking our connection. His chest lightly heaves as the aggravation in him takes over and before I have a chance to try to calm him to prevent him from doing something drastic, I am crippled with fear a large hand suddenly wraps around my neck. My thighs writhe and twist at either side of his waist in an attempt to dislodge him from between them, but he is much stronger than I and my feeble attempts begin to wane.

Renewed tears fall freely from my eyes as I stare up into his dark expression, wondering if he realizes this will not work and will give me the release from this life that I have so longed for. But I am disappointed when I realize that even now my desire to survive is much stronger than my will to die so with all the strength I can muster, I do the only thing in this very moment that I know would immediately console him and force my hips to rock against his.

As if a match has been struck to clear the darkness from a room, Oliver blinks and the grip on my neck quickly releases. Already I can sense the promise of a fresh new patch of bruises blossoming under the ghosts of his touch still lingering on my skin.

"Lana-" he moans, his eyes closing, his dark brows furrowing as surprise and confusion slice through him with the sharpest knife.

I do not stop moving and he slumps over me as the rolling of my hips rock him inside me like a warm, safe cradle. Oliver groans, his face burying into the hollow of my neck, his breath heavy against my skin. He nips and sucks at my jaw and chin until he crushes his lips to mine in a punishingly passionate kiss and this time he is successful in slipping his tongue past my lips. I feel his hand grip my jaw in order to completely control my movement and my eyes grow wide in disbelief at what I'm doing yet at the same time horrified to find a burst of pleasure beginning to coil uninvitingly into my lower belly.

He breaks the kiss, his breath heavy and he whispers with a small smile, "Still feeling confused and afraid aren't you?"

I ignore him and look away.

"Well at any rate, I know that deep down you're not truly afraid of what's happening, you're afraid of _enjoying_ what's happening."

The hand at my jaw finds my neck again, but this time there is no pressure, just him holding me here in case I try to bolt. His head dips down for a moment to envelop a nipple between his lips, but he doesn't linger and rises up again to run his fingers over the saliva he left behind. He begins to slowly thrust inside me, bumping against a traitorous spot buried deep between my legs that was once only touched by my long lost love. The unwanted pleasure builds and builds and I shake violently as confusion, fear and utter horror swirl unchecked within my brain.

I feel my walls clenching against the girth of him and with each thrust I loathe him stroke for stroke for making my body deceive me this way. I try to tell myself this is just sex, even if it is with a man. But this isn't just sex and it's far from making love. No, it's both a combination of reluctant submission and an act of brutal domination.

"Oliver, please… just-just let me go. We can go back to the way things were and forget… forget this ever happened." I lie and plead.

"I can't, not this time. I told you it was fate that brought you to me, Lana…" he chuffs. "We're so uniquely the same yet different that we were destined to be."

He angles his thrusts, bumping against the tight little kernel at the apex of my thighs, just above where we are joined and I am helpless to control the pleasure it brings.

I cry out to no one who can hear as the sensations heighten, goose bumps peppering my skin. I try to still my body against the heat building all too quickly between my hips. He can feel the increase in wetness and he smirks down at me, continuing his assault to drag me closer to that dangerous edge that I'm clawing so desperately to get away from. I slap his cheek with the kind of stinging slap a mother would deliver to a little boy for swearing, but this only furthers his resolve. My fists follow suit and I pummel his shoulders, yet he refuses to relent.

Suddenly he sits up, pulling me with him by my arms into a subduing hug, my legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. A moan escapes my lips as gravity works against me, sliding me further down his length and pushing him deeper into my womb. My arms wrap around his broad shoulders, holding on in desperation for my impending release.

"Ah! God… Wendy… Please _forgive_ _me_!" I cry out and close my eyes to try to shut him out. I know it's wrong, but with each trust he fills my body with an uncontrolled need and almost painful arousal that right now only he seems to be able to extinguish.

"Don't _fight_ it…" he huffs harshly against my cheek, his hips rocking in a rhythm that makes me want to spit curses that would make a sailor shame. He grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to look up into his dark brown eyes.

"Eyes open." He commands, determined to erase the love of my life from my memory for good. "I want to make sure you know who it is that's doing these things to you."

With every meeting of our hips, he may as well be stabbing me with a hot, pleasure inducing knife. He groans, becoming lost in his own passion. Tears begin to stream down my face as he forces me to face the harshest of realities and I won't admit it, but I'm scared as hell. He has laid down the rules and I've no choice but to comply. No more playing pretend. And it isn't until now that I understand the magnitude of his statement when he once told me that he had great determination, _especially_ now that he had a reason.

I am realizing that I'll never be free….

I stare hatefully up at him as my hips match the sinfully sweet rhythm he has set all of their own accord. My cheeks are wet with renewed tears and with one last rise of dignified rebellion, I tell him, "You can take my body, my freedom, and even love of Wendy from me… But you'll never have _me_."

He chuffs with exertion and raises a single dark eyebrow at me, his expression oddly complacent. "We'll see."

I glare back at him, my face a mask of determination to still my traitorous body, unwilling to allow him yet another victory. I feel a free hand tightly grip the soft flesh of my naked bottom to control the rocking of my hips and to my disdain, it is my undoing.

"Stop! God, _please_!" I whimper hoarsely.

And suddenly, as if time has finally put a stop to this nightmare that I'm condemned to live, my stomach bottoms out and fills my core with a bittersweet burst of white hot fire. Despite myself, I whimper and coo my release. My arms wound tightly around his neck, my eyes clenching shut and I gasp, my mouth open in a silent cry.

Oliver's breath catches, his back arching from the sensation of me clenching and clasping around his sensitive organ buried deep inside me. I soak his flesh while desperately squeezing him just for having something to grasp onto. Somewhere in the back of my muddled thoughts, I feel him swell inside of me just before the hot sensation of his seed spills into my already occupied womb. The grip of his hand on my bottom should be painful as he rides out his long awaited release, but all I can feel are shame, delicious sexual release, and utter humiliation rippling through my veins with underlying self pity to fuel them along.

Oliver releases the breath I didn't realize he was holding and releases his grip on my hair. My arms droop limply over his shoulders and I stare blankly past him, defeated. Surprisingly neither of us moves from the other's embrace for several minutes until I finally feel his hands hook under my arms and lower me onto his bed in an undignified heap. His larger form looms over me, his body language unnervingly subdued and he nudges his forehead against mine, our breath hot and heavy with exertion.

Oliver chuckles breathlessly against my lips and I can feel the corners of his lips tug upwards in a smile.

"You're making excellent progress compared to the first time we were... intimate." he says and lazily sucks on my lips. "At first, you couldn't tell the difference between me and a broomstick handle."

I am unresponsive as I lay there quiet, lifeless, and unmoving.

"We will conclude our session for today and pick up again tomorrow morning, same time." He says, in annoyance at finding my conversation so suddenly lacking and quickly looking at his watch.

I watch as Oliver scoots to the edge of the bed. He doesn't bother putting his white undershirt and underwear back on. Instead he reaches for his glasses from the little nightstand next to his bed and slides them into place atop his nose then goes for his pack of cigarettes, placing one between his lips and lighting it in the protective shell of his hands. He takes one long drag and I long to snatch it from his fingers and steal a puff, but I know he doesn't like to share it and I refuse to ask him for one of my own. I continue to idly watch him get up and reach for his "security blanket" under the edge of the bed. I already knew it was coming so I don't fight when the cold metal clasp slips around my small foot. Once it's secured to his comfort, his fingers glide over the skin of my calf before he walks into the bathroom and there is a squeak of the nozzle as the sound of water fills the room. My mind wanders to the happier and more beautiful moments that Wendy and I once shared in our own bedroom inside our quaint little home, filled with quaint little dreams.

A single tear slides sideways onto his sheets, forming a new little dark dot to add to the collection of others I've left behind and try to take solace in the fact that amongst all of this darkness, there is one bit of consolation left that I take with a grain of salt…

And that's the fact that as long as I remain here, locked inside Oliver's bedroom, he won't feel the need to do this to some other unfortunate girl like myself. I laugh lightly to myself. Perhaps Oliver was right...

This _is_ my destiny and it's a necessary evil that I will grudgingly accept.


End file.
